


Free Like the Wind

by inkedpenn



Series: Even the Birds are Chained to the Sky [2]
Category: Bob Dylan (Musician)
Genre: (again not that explicit but... its a major theme), (i tried to be tasteful), (the man was in a motorcycle crash okay theres some blood but not too much), Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mild Gore, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedpenn/pseuds/inkedpenn
Summary: Fictionalized (obviously) version of Bob Dylan's infamously mysterious motorcycle crash in '66.Maybe Bob shouldn't be driving, he's nowhere near a good state of mind, but hell if that's going to stop him.





	Free Like the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a series with Hairline Fracture, but you don't need to read that one to read this one.

The shuddering vibrations of the road used to calm him; now they're just an opportunity for his mind to play tricks on him. Nothing obvious, just-

He thinks that it might be increasingly dangerous for him to be driving, at least in this state of mind.

Then again, he doesn't really care.

Actually, right now, he doesn't care about much; doesn't feel much, except being trapped, forced into something he can't do- can't get out of it either, so where does that leave him?

Damned if you do, damned if you don't. And he's certainly damned, so maybe it's fitting, but that doesn't ease the crushing pressure any. Not any more than all the other things he's tried.

Maybe at one point, the music did that for him. But that's worse, somehow, because now the music is the same thing that's turning against him. Sharpened by the world, turned into a dagger pressed up against his throat. Don't move boy, be good. Do what we tell you, or else-

"Or else" doesn't seem so bad anymore. At least then he wouldn't have to put everybody on so. At least then this- this torture, would be over.

Torture. His own words, turned to flames, burning him at the stake.

His own words turned to nails, not in his coffin but through his hands. His guitar feels a hell of a lot like a crucifix, dragging it onto the stage like climbing up Calvary hill.

He doesn't get the mercy of death afterwards. No, he's no Christ. He's Sisyphus, an eternity of a weight he was never meant to be able to bear.

He knows his driving is erratic, should probably slow down but can't. His life has been too fast, rapid, he can't slow down for anything or it'll all come crashing down. He has too much to do, to go slow. His thoughts are moving too quickly, the wind running over him so free by contrast and it's driving him insane.

Freedom, a laughable concept nowadays, especially after he's just talked to Albert and that only ever puts more bars on his cage. More shows at least, and to Bob they might as well be the same damn thing.

He wants to be like the wind. Moving without boundaries, without explanations. Suddenly the straight lines of the road feel like a noose, choking him, and tears cloud his vision but he can't stop now. Speeds up, actually, because he just wants to make this feeling go away and that's the only thing he can think of to do. Black asphalt blurs with the green trees, leaves so bright because its finally summer and shouldn't that be a good thing? But it isn't, he's still always cold and the sun doesn't warm him any.

The road curves, but hell if Bob notices because right now his mind is off somewhere chasing freedom. Off at sea, maybe, where there's no one to tell him where he can and can't go.

Then, the black-and-green blur shifts violently, and in a rush of noise it all goes black. His eyes close, body bracing for impact even as his mind doesn't realize what's happening.

There's a sickening crunch, metal screeching and splintered wood. He opens his eyes, and finds a new color- red, because there's blood, and that when he screams because suddenly _everything fucking hurts._

Then he sees Sara pull over nearby, getting out and rushing to him. He sees shock most of all, then fear and something close to worry. He thinks that he's seen that look before, though right now his thoughts aren't too clear. The pain is overwhelming, and he can't think about much else besides it, like a physical presence pushing everything else away.

So he does the one thing that might make the pain go away for a little bit, and promptly passes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
